


Everchase

by pxrainey



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), The Magnus Archives (Podcast), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Murder, Canon-Typical Violence, Dream goes feral, Gen, Hunters & Hunting, Lovers to enemies to lovers, M/M, Original Statement (The Magnus Archives), Pining, Redemption, Temporary Character Death, The Hunt Fear Entity (The Magnus Archives), major spoilers for all of tma, manhunt but irl, no beta we die like george in manhunts (or does he?? read to find out), sapnap says The Line in this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:22:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29132502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pxrainey/pseuds/pxrainey
Summary: It slowly dawns on George what this means for them, and he’s just so, so tired of it all.He mumbles, with all the trepidation and languor of a man whose heart’s been torn at one too many times, “We’ll have to fight him again, one last time. Right?”Nodding, Jon concludes, “There is no closure without bloodshed in this place.”When Jon and Martin take a detour in the woods of The Hunt’s domain, they stumble across two distraught men cowering next to a dead body. Sapnap and George tell them about the lone Nightmare ruling these woods, whom Jon soon realises only he could destroy once and for all. “Dream logic,” indeed.(aka irl manhunt during the apocalypse)
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 5
Kudos: 31





	Everchase

_the star maker says, it ain’t so bad  
the dream maker’s gonna make you mad _

——— 

Their steps are careful, calculated, as they tread upon the soil, the endless emerald terrain that speaks of fight and flight. After hours of this aimless search, their muscles have become sore for the first time in—what, weeks, months?—and yet, as they scan the sinister woods, their primal instincts taking over, they feel as though even they, despite their unwavering dedication to their actual goal beyond the wilderness, could now be seen as predators—or prey, depending on who exactly it is that is turning their hungry gaze upon the two wanderers.

And there is something—someone, right there in the shadows. Lurking. Scheming. They can both feel it with an uttermost, oppressive clarity, even if neither of them has quite the mind to mention the eager presence aloud. They simply move on, sending silent condolences to those who couldn’t escape this hunter as easily. 

“How much further is it?” Martin’s voice is but the faint shadow of a whisper as he is achingly aware of the imminent danger a slightly more prominent noise would pose. He wills himself to not stumble over one of the many tree branches on their arbitrary path, but cannot help the shudder running through his every muscle when he notices the blood and claw marks which decorate this particular one. “This place isn’t exactly easy to navigate.”

“Well, it isn’t really meant to be, is it?” Jon replies grimly. “Where’s the fun in hunting without some obstacles to keep your prey on edge?” 

They both somewhat relax upon noticing that they seem to have reached the brink of the thicket at last. It isn’t long before this sense of alleviation vanishes, however, as they take in their new opponent: a deep ravine spreading as far as they can see on either side of them. 

Martin rolls his eyes at his boyfriend’s ominosity. “I guess. But isn’t this the way to Basira?” He is pointing across the abyss between them and what looks to be a much more sparse forest. 

“It is. We’ll have to find a way around it.” Sighing, Jon continues, “Come on, I’m sure the fog is making the walk look much longer than it is.” He Knows that isn’t quite true, but he is eager to ease Martin’s stress any chance he gets today, and on they go. 

They have been walking along the edge of the ravine for a mere five minutes when a sudden scream reverberates through the fields, clearly coming from the woods. Martin turns to Jon, not quite managing to conceal the fear of being caught prey after all, but Jon shakes his head reassuringly. 

“Somebody is hurt. In danger,” he says, his eyes glowing verdant ever so slightly. “But we’re not what their hunter is after. We’re safe.”

“But we… could help them?”

Jon sighs. “I don’t know. If they’re willing to accept help, maybe.”

Martin doesn’t have to say a word to reveal his curious hesitation.

That hint of a teasing smile on Jon’s lips is just as irritating as it is strangely adorable when he says, “Martin, is that empathy speaking or has our voyeuristic need to know finally gotten the better of you as well?”

“Oh, shut up,” Martin grins. “It’s just… if there’s a chance we could help, why not, right?”

There’s the familiar sound of fabric rustling as they embrace. “Right,” Jon murmurs, smiling. Of course Martin would care enough to try and be helpful to a select few in the midst of all this ongoing agony, when Jon himself has long since lost sight of anything that won’t directly lead him to that ivory tower in the heart of London.

So he leads the way, back into the forest where soon enough they find a clearing that could be that almost forgotten kind of natural beautiful you don’t exactly come across during the apocalypse, if it wasn’t for the scene that presents itself.

There are two young men cowering next to another, apparently dead body in the grass. 

One has an empty look in his eyes and doesn’t even seem to notice the approaching strangers. The other one immediately jumps up at hearing sticks crack under their feet, drawing his bow at them and staring them down. He somewhat relaxes when he realises they’re not the hunter he was expecting, but still doesn’t let down his guard as he whispers, out of breath, “What do you want?”

The man appears to be around ten years younger than Jon and Martin, American judged by his accent, and just as determined as he is utterly, terribly exhausted. The white bandana that’s pulling back his disheveled dark hair is stained with dirt like the rest of his clothes, and there’s sweat and blood dripping down his shivering body. This, paired with the dark circles under his eyes, indicates how long they must have been on edge like this. 

“You need help, don’t you?” Martin speaks up, continuing to step forwards carefully. “It’s okay, we’re not here to hurt you.”

“Don’t come near us!” He doesn’t stop pointing his bow at them, but he does take a moment to check up on his companion, who seems to be in an even worse shape than him. “Come on, George, don’t quit on me now…”

Upon further inspection, they notice that the other man—George—is making his halfhearted attempts to stop the bleeding on his wounded leg, but he is too disorientated and drained to properly help himself. 

“We can help him. We’ll find something to use as bandages.” Martin is now right in front of the distressed man, the tip of the arrow between his eyes, but he does not waver. He sees the look on that face, and he is certain his friend’s survival is what matters most to him now. “Hey, it’s going to be fine. I’m Martin, this is Jon. What’s your name?”

The man looks around. At the trees, at his friend, at Martin’s kind face… and letting out an exasperated sigh, his whole body slumps at once.

“Sapnap,” he breathes out, throws his bow to the ground and quickly turns to kneel down next to George.

“Hey Georgie, look at me…” He slaps the other man’s face gently to keep him from falling asleep, grinning for just a second when George rolls his eyes at him.

Meanwhile Martin finds a shirt in his bag to wrap around the bleeding wound, and Jon examines George’s body for any other injuries that need immediate attention. They manage to patch George up enough so that he can sit up straight without too much pain, and Sapnap looks like he trusts them enough to relax somewhat as well. 

“Thank you,” he mumbles, leaning against a tree trunk, taking in his surroundings when at last his eyes land on the dead body lying a few meters away from them. 

“Was he with you?” Jon asks, though he Knows the answer.

Sapnap sighs. “Yeah. Bad, he… we tried setting up a new trap today, but… _he_ used it against us and got him.”

There’s a moment of silence—Martin wonders how it is that neither of them seems truly shook up about the loss of their companion, before he inquires carefully, “And who is _‘he’_?”

Instinctively, Sapnap’s eyes flicker around to reassure himself of the absence of his tormentor, but eventually he indicates for Jon and Martin to sit down as well.

The tree tops are guarding them from the glaring sun as Sapnap tells the two curious watchers his story while George’s gaze remains turned upon the dull bushes swaying in the breeze—it is refreshing in a way, Jon thinks briefly, having someone open up to him on their own accords, not compelled by his power that penetrates his every nerve with their twisted, disturbed thoughts… 

“The hunter roaming these woods is whatever is left of someone we used to know as Dream. The nickname ‘Nightmare’ started off as a joke a few months ago, but when you think about it…” There is a raw tremor in Sapnap’s voice. 

“We were friends, the four of us. Best friends, for God knows how long, and all thanks to…. well, you two don’t really seem the type to know lots about Youtube or Minecraft, but…” he trails off, chuckling softly, and even George cannot help the faint comfort of nostalgia bringing a smile to his lips. 

Jon and Martin lock eyes for barely a second before they have to look away. In the back of their minds, they are reminded of late nights in the archives many years ago. The mischievous grin on Tim’s unscarred face when he’d finally convinced the two of them and Sasha to join him in a game night ‘just this once’. Soon after that, their monthly tradition of coming together to play in a pixelated world so devoid of the paranormal creeps of their work life… Sasha’s childlike joy when taunting them because she was always the best at virtual fights… The innocent giggling, quiet to avoid Elias’ questions, all of them so ignorant of the impending danger lurking behind the institute’s every corner… 

But those times are long gone, and dwelling on memories won’t help Jon defeat the one who’s corrupted every last one of them, so he can’t be bothered to correct Sapnap.

“Anyway,” Sapnap clears his throat, “When everything changed, he… the three of us had come here to surprise George on his birthday, and at first it was great, but then that one day… Well, you know what happened. Big eye in sky, that horrible sinking feeling in your chest that no matter what you do, it will never look away again...

“It’s a blur what happened next, all I know is Dream just got up and ran off right into all that misery outside, and of course we followed him. He wouldn’t stop, there was nothing we could do, and all the while there were all these people… all that suffering…

“I couldn’t tell you how long we ran for. He led us here, in the end. We were idiots really, calling out for him, desperately trying to find our friend, when deep down I think we all knew… he’d changed. He wasn’t him anymore. I’d never felt like that before in my life, like… like _prey_. But when he emerged from the shadows with an axe in his hands and that terrible smirk on his lips…”

George’s entire body seems to tense up at the memory, and he blinks several times in quick succession.

“We couldn’t fight back, too shocked to even run or scream. There was a sudden strike, a pain I’d never felt before, and just so, _so_ much blood everywhere. The last thing I remember is George’s cry of pain and… that was it. That was… all there was to the first time.”

“First… first time?” Martin speaks up again, “What do you mean?”

Sapnap’s expression is that of a man who’s seen and experienced enough violence for an entire lifetime, far more than anyone as young as him ever should, as he sighs, “We woke up… could’ve been hours, could’ve been days later. I don’t know how, I don’t know why, but Dream slayed us with a fucking diamond axe, and then we woke up afterwards without so much as a scratch.

“Safe to say we thought we were collectively going nuts. There was a lot of arguing about what to do, but in the end… We all knew he was still out there, watching us, waiting to strike again… So we tried to leave, but it’s like…. like this force pulling at us, keeping us near him.

“We can’t leave this place. Not ever. Not until he’s gone. For good.”

Martin wishes he could conceal the pity in his voice better. He’s painfully reminded of why he’s always eager to get as far away from Jon as possible when he takes a statement. “So all this time you’ve been hiding from him and what, planning a trap?”

Sapnap laughs abruptly, a terribly bitter sound. “Oh, we’ve done more than that. It took some time for me to convince them, but eventually we all agreed we have to fight back. That… predator, he’s not our friend. So we equipped as best as we could, took our shot and… killed him. For one _fucking_ night.

“He came back the next day, craving revenge, and ever since then we’ve been going back and forth trying to kill each other without ever really managing to. Sometimes we outsmart him with new strategies, but mostly he’s turned into… into… well, yeah, into a literal fucking _Nightmare_ of traps and flames and blood and explosions and-” 

“Nick, calm down,” George interrupts the heated outburst, taking his friend’s hand in his and massaging his palm gently. “You can’t freak out, okay?”

There is so much bottled up rage and fear and frustration inside of Sapnap, and as he’s panting his way through it all, Jon can’t help the sudden urge to do anything in his power to help him get out of this.

When Sapnap has calmed down somewhat, Martin asks, “So your friend will be fine?” 

“Bad? Yeah. It’s like a cycle. Once either the three of us or he is dead, we get a short, precious time-out, and then a reset.” 

With shaking hands, Sapnap stands up and stalls around the clearing for a bit, the others watching him silently before he composes himself. 

“It’s strange,” he begins again, “the longer we played this twisted game, the better the stuff we found along the way got. Armor, provisions, weapons, even explosives or poison at times... It’s like this place wants us to have more and more exciting fights,” he chuckles bitterly, “In a way, I guess it’s like an audience pushing us to produce better content constantly.” 

There’s a curious look on Jon’s face after he says that. He looks around the clearing and up into the sky in a contemplative silence, staring right back at the perverse voyeur batting its lashes at him in mock adoration. 

“It’s hungry for a show…”

Surprisingly enough, it’s George who answers, in a low murmur, “Maybe we should stop feeding it then.” 

They all turn to him, and Sapnap’s eyebrows furrow in irritation. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… Why do we keep giving this messed up watcher what it wants? Maybe if we just stop, it’ll get bored eventually.”

George’s words seem to strike a nerve in his friend. “So what do you want us to do instead? Just let him kill us over and over again without fighting back?”

“What’s the point of fighting when we can’t ever win, not really? There’s literally no way to kill him, we’ve tried _everything_. And… and now we’re just making fools of ourselves trying to hide the fact that every time we see Dream die, it tears us apart!” George exclaims, voice getting louder and more desperate with every word.

Martin catches a subtle change of expression on his partner’s face then, indicating the little outburst just revealed something about the exact nuances of Dream and George’s relationship to him, and studying the empty look on George’s face, Martin knows, too. He doesn’t need Jon’s infinite knowledge to recognize the pain of the one you love turning against you, compelled by a power far greater than either of you could ever truly comprehend.

Sapnap falls silent. George hasn’t said Dream’s name in months. He has been avoiding any sort of sincerity about his emotions like this with a careful discretion he rarely ever shows anymore. And now the woeful words are just pouring out of him, and Sapnap is overcome with a crushing pity for his friend. 

He kneels down next to him, and George can’t bear to look him in the eye. 

“Look, I know we can’t kill him-”

“I could,” Jon interrupts at once. He clears his throat timidly when three curious pairs of eyes focus on him. “I could kill him. Permanently.”

It’s George who manages to speak first, voice weak and tinged with fear. “What—how?”

Jon sighs and says, somewhat begrudgingly, “I’m the Archivist. Sort of in charge of… all of this. That’s why I Know pretty much everything, and that also means I can… destroy other Watchers, including your Nightmare. If I choose to do so. If you want me to.”

“Of course we want you to!” Sapnap bursts out, completely forgetting to be furious at Jon for indirectly putting him in this situation in the first place. 

“So what,” George says hesitantly, “You mean you could actually kill him once and for all? What would that mean for us?” Jon decidedly pays no mind to the jolt of pain that shoots through George’s body at the thought. 

“I could. He would be gone, and the three of you would probably move on to another horror, somewhere else. We live in an unforgiving place that won’t let you off the hook that easily. But you would have closure, even revenge perhaps.”

“Well, great! Let’s get on with it then!” All of Sapnap’s pent up rage has evoked an eagerness to kill his former friend in him that is so eerily fitting in this particular domain of the Hunt—but there is none of that to be found in George’s almost pleading expression. 

Martin notices this and asks him what’s wrong, and he looks anywhere but at Sapnap as he chokes out, “I don’t want Dream to die.”

Sapnap has to try very hard to not lose his composure. “You—Excuse me, _what?”_

“Listen, Nick, I-”

“No!” Sapnap yells, “You listen to me now, George. I _have_ been patient with you. I know he’s gone and I know your heart is broken, but that’s exactly the point! Dream is _gone._ You said it yourself, we’ve tried everything, he’s not coming back. And now we finally have a way to get rid of the monster that’s taken him, and you’re telling me you want to—what, protect it?”

“N-No, but-”

“Forget it. Whatever you’re trying to say, I don’t care anymore. I will not suffer through this bullshit a day longer. Neither will Bad, and neither will you, if you’re not actually as stupid and naive as you’re behaving right now.”

Sapnap’s chest is heaving, while George can merely stare at his hands in shame.

After a moment of loaded silence and three unwavering pairs of eyes set on George’s fragile form, the latter looks up at Jon and speaks up again, his voice barely above a whisper, “There’s nothing else you could do?”

“I’m sorry,” Jon says as he solemnly shakes his head, “I wish there was.”

And then, even George, in all his desperation to save his lost lover, surrenders. Shedding just a single tear, he gives his quiet agreement, while his friend still can’t quite look at him.

Clearing his throat, Jon remarks, “There’s one other thing, though. I can end him, but not right away.”

“What do you mean?” Sapnap asks, anger slowly ebbing away to make room for his exhaustion to take over again. 

“You said it’s like a cycle. Either of you has to die for a game to be over?”

“Yeah…?”

Jon sighs, “If my prediction is correct, then me changing him before the Eye gets one last showdown would anger it tremendously. Like a cliffhanger.”

It slowly dawns on George what this means for them, and he’s just so, so tired of it all. 

He mumbles, with all the trepidation and languor of a man whose heart’s been torn at one too many times, “We’ll have to fight him again, one last time. Right?”

Nodding, Jon concludes, “There is no closure without bloodshed in this place.”

——— 

In another world, another life, there was a time when George would find himself quietly aching for nothing more and nothing less than to truly see the colour of his love’s eyes. He usually never really dwelled on such pointless thoughts, but every once in a while he couldn’t shake the slight sting in his chest when someone mentioned the rare beauty of Dream’s green eyes that he himself could only ever perceive as a muddy, somewhat grayish yellow. He was certain it would have been his favourite colour, otherwise.

Those worries feel like an eternity away, now. 

Now, as the endless forest, where he came back from the dead only to have his once beloved tear him apart in every imaginable way over and over again, has been keeping him its prisoner for so long, he thinks that there’s no uglier colour in the world than the green of the trees and the bushes and the moss and yes, of Dream’s eyes too. And so, he finds himself glad he will never have to see it.

As the sun begins to tint the woods orange—Jon explained earlier how, while in most domains concepts like day and night or the need for food and water have been entirely abandoned, this manifestation of the Hunt relies on them to keep its captives on edge—it’s almost pretty. George remembers watching the sun set and rise again all during one gaming session with his friends, first online and then those few precious times in Florida. One particular morning when everyone except for him and Dream was asleep, when upon taking in all of his best friend’s breathtaking features on that rooftop, illuminated by the first rays of sunshine, the enormity of the feelings he’d kept hidden for so long spilled out of George all at once. He remembers a smile, a confession, a kiss. Gentle hands pulling him closer—

“Hey,” his friend’s voice snaps him out of his sulking, “You… you think you’re ready to do this?”

Looking up at Sapnap, he forces an encouraging expression on his face as he nods, “It’s a good plan. We got this.”

After everyone had agreed to it earlier, the four of them began to work out the best way to go about killing their hunter together. They came to the agreement that Jon and Martin should stay in hiding and wait while George would present himself as easy prey, only for Sapnap to ambush Dream from behind. No matter the outcome, Jon will emerge afterwards and put an end to their suffering at last.

It’s a solid plan. There’s no way it could fail. And yet, George can’t shake the sinking feeling in his chest that Sapnap judged him so harshly for when he thinks about the indefinite loss of their best friend.

They sit in silence until Sapnap murmurs, “Look, I- I’m sorry about earlier. I shouldn’t have…”

“No, don’t—you were right. It’s time,” George says sullenly.

Theirs isn’t a friendship of many intimate words, but as they finally manage to look each other in the eyes again, they both know just what the other wants to convey. The smallest of smiles makes its way to Sapnap’s lips as he says, “We’ll be fine, right? After all of this?” ~~After losing him?~~

And George is swiftly reminded of how Sapnap is still the youngest of them all, and yet he’s shown by far the most strength and devotion to protect his friends throughout all of his. He hesitantly smiles back at him, “Yeah, Snapmap. We’ll be alright.”

He cackles, “Okay, _Grog,_ you’re one to-”

_Crack._

Both their heads shoot up at once, pupils dilating, scanning the clearing for the source of the sound. 

Nightmares come true when a single red light emerges from the shadows of the thicket. It comes from the hunter’s left eye, which is not hidden behind the cracked mask obscuring his face. A smile like corruption. Eyes like red rum.

 _“Oh, George…”_

In an instant, they’re on their feet, Sapnap heading for the bushes behind them, George ready to go on the offensive with shield and axe in hand.

Dream chuckles cruelly, “You ready, baby?”

He doesn’t grant him the chance to answer, instead using George’s moment of irritation to lunge forwards and strike his axe at him. George barely averts the attack with his shield, but the impact sends him flying to the ground. He hurries to get back up, but Dream is kicking him, keeping him in his powerless position, until George loses hold of his shield, his last protection.

Dream practically jumps at him, wraps his large hands around George’s neck and _squeezes_. As the smaller man struggles for breath underneath him, the hunter lets out a terrible laugh that reverberates through the forest, and even the Archivist himself, cowering in the bushes next to the scene with Martin, cannot help the shiver that runs down his spine.

Jon quickly signals for Sapnap to intervene, and he manages to land an arrow right in Dream’s side, giving George the opportunity to use his distraction and deliver a determined kick to his gut. He shoves his attacker off him and crawls away, desperate to fill his lungs with air. 

Dream, chest heaving, pulls the arrow out of his own torso, quickly scanning the area for his other opponent. When the crimson glow finds Sapnap, he grabs the crossbow strapped to his back, and Sapnap, too, gets his bow ready again. 

They lock eyes for just a second, Sapnap prepared to dodge the arrow, but when he shoots his own shot, there’s that crazed caricature of a smile on Dream’s face and—he jumps up in an instant, Sapnap’s arrow misses, but Dream wasn’t aiming for him, he-

_“No!”_

Dream’s aim is that of an experienced hunter—he hits George’s heart perfectly. For a single beat, everything freezes. A gasp, a broken sob, and George’s body falls limp to the ground. 

Even after all this time, the sight twists Sapnap in unimaginable ways. Letting out a deafening growl, he charges towards his enemy, not even batting an eye at the arrow he takes to the left thigh. He pulls out his iron sword and feels a small spark of victory in his chest when he sees Dream’s trusted shining axe lying far out of his reach, leaving him with only a golden sword that Sapnap knows all too well he’s not as skilled with. 

They’re just a few meters apart now, dancing around each other with an unwavering lust for blood plastered on both their faces. 

“It’s always gonna be me versus you in the end, Dream, isn’t it?”

The toothy grin contorts the visible half of his face into an utterly psychotic visage, as he laughs, never losing his confidence, “Well, come on then, brother!”

They move in sync, they always had—just like they once did in a playful, brotherly manner, they attack at the same time, switch neatly between delivering lethal hits and blocking them, take as much damage as they succeed in impairing the other. 

Dream revels in the hasty movement and moments of panic he sees in his opponent, feels the adrenaline shoot through every last fiber of his body. Sapnap thinks they could do this forever, pushing each other to the limit, becoming a twisted duo in all their resentment for one another. 

But they don’t. 

Too fixated on ducking one particularly vicious attack, Sapnap doesn’t notice how they’ve arrived back at the other side of the clearing in their chasing each other, and he stumbles over something—someone. He lands right next to George’s body, staring into empty brown eyes. 

And the last thing he sees before he, too, goes completely still, is a golden blade glimmering in the light of the setting sun, aiming for his chest, and its owner’s manic grin. 

In an instant, it’s all over. A nightingale turns its lonely gaze upon the clearing, where, for just a moment, it is utterly quiet and motionless, safe for the grass swaying gently in the cool evening breeze. Gracefully, the nightingale lands besides the hunter and his prey, another curious observer of the now nearly peaceful atmosphere, right until a sudden, piercing laughter erupts from the figure, and the frightened bird disappears within seconds.

Laughter only rising in volume, Dream’s entire body spasms with the rush of his triumph. Jon doesn’t make a move to leave their hiding spot just yet, in favour of watching the victor closely.

“Get him, Jon, before he-” Martin urges then, but his partner shushes him, fixated on the hunter’s guttural roars-

And it dawns on him, all at once, that this is not an outburst of amusement at all.

Dream is—ludicrously, impossibly—sobbing.

When he rips the mask off his head, they can see the entirety of his face contorted in pain, tears falling from his naturally viridian eyes that show no sign of that feral red. Trembling, the vicious predator they saw just minutes before is clasping the still body beneath him desperately, crying out… for what? His friends?

Confused, Martin turns back to Jon, whose eyes are emitting that familiar green glow as he mumbles, “He’s not a Watcher.”

_“What?”_

Jon takes it all in, lets Dream’s perspective of the past several months consume him, and then he explains in his deepest voice, “He’s not like Jude or the others, never shared their sadistic delight in the face of others suffering... How could he— Imagine it. Feeling that pull deep inside of you, to lure your friends in, chase after them like prey, tear them apart one by one—a desire that is not your own, yet so aching, driving you to do it again and again and again… All the while knowing who they are, who _you_ really are, that you love them and protected them from everything and anything before that hunger took over. But there’s no way to still it, nowhere to escape the agony in their eyes. The eyes of your brothers, who despise you… of your lover, who longs for you…” 

When he finally shakes himself out of his statement-like trance, the Archivist looks determined as ever. “It’s time,” he proclaims, perfectly certain what needs to be done. 

Just a few meters away, Dream hasn’t stopped wailing, now lying next to George, stroking his cheek gently. His whispers can barely be made out as futile, pleading apologies, and Martin finds himself suddenly opposed to the idea of Jon killing this man, who is after all just as much a victim of the Hunt as his friends. 

But before he can voice his hesitation, Jon is on his feet, emerging from the bushes, eyes illuminating his path in shades of emerald. He shakes off Martin trying to stop him, steps forwards slowly, feels a tingle in his fingertips, and begins his eerie mantra, _“Ceaseless Watcher,”_

_“Look upon this man,”_ Dream’s head shoots up suddenly, eyes panicked and purely green as he takes in the approaching stranger. With every step he takes, static rises and the air gets stiffer. 

_“Tortured by a monstrous delight and compelled by a traitorous starvation for blood,”_ Dream is transfixed by the Archivist’s presence, starts to shake all over as his tears keep falling silently. 

_“Gaze into him, through him… And out of him,”_ he can’t move as he feels a beautifully agonizing sensation shoot through him, the Archivist now right in front of him, radiating verdant energy.

 _“Make him a vessel of your hunger, staring out and chasing with a thousand, thousand, thousand, starving, eager, eyes,”_ the air is knocked out of him as he feels something far, far greater than him pull at his heartstrings, tearing him in two. 

_“Gift him your power and protection,”_ he shudders with broken sobs and the urge to run as far away from this monster as possible, but the other half of him embraces the fire inside him with a desperate desire for change. 

_“Make him yours,”_ and with one last agonized, forever unanswered cry for his patron to save him, Nightmare evaporates into the burning flare of the setting sun—and Dream opens his eyes for the very first time. 

Lucidity rushes over him like a thousand piercing knives, as every fiber of his transfigured being is flooded with images of fire, suffocation, vertigo, disease, insanity, solitude, darkness, carnage, catastrophe- _everything- “What have you done?”_ he screams, covering his ears in a despaired attempt to shield himself from all the unthinkable suffering-

He collapses. 

The sun is gone. The night is silent. The Eye is satisfied.

“Jon,” Martin breathes out, tumbling forwards, “What the hell did you do?”

The Archivist’s expression is perfectly neutral, no indication of strain in his voice at all as he simply states, “I changed him.”

“Changed—what does that mean? Is he-”

Before he can finish, the figure on the ground moves again. Slowly, Dream starts to get up, still trembling slightly, but when he speaks his voice is level, certain. “Not dead,” he looks right at him, “Martin. I appreciate the concern, though.”

And Martin has officially had it. “Okay, if I don’t get an explanation in the next thirty seconds-”

“He’s a victim of the Hunt,” Jon says. “Well, he was. I hadn’t done it before because it wouldn’t have made a real difference out there, but… I can transform victims of any domain. Not make the Eye _see_ them, but rather take them as its servant. He’s... an Avatar now, so to say. I, uh,” a subtle tremor of uncertainty creeps into his voice then, eyes flickering down to the two unmoving bodies on the ground, “I thought this alternative would be preferable for everyone involved.”

As soon as Dream notices them, he falls to his knees next to George and cups his face with his bloody hands, pupils blown wide. “Oh my god, George, _baby-_ no, you can’t be, I never wanted-” he sobs, shaking him in desperation.

 _hes gone i killed him its all over what have i done-_

But the body in his grasp stirs. Dream’s breath hitches as George’s eyes flicker open gradually. It takes the latter a few seconds to make sense of his situation, but when he does, he whimpers, not in relief, but in pure fear.

“George, it’s me-”

 _“No,”_ the smaller male struggles underneath him, “It’s not! Leave me alone! Please, I can’t-”

Abruptly, Sapnap’s eyes shoot open as well, and in an instant he’s tackling Dream, yelling, “Let him go!”

But as George hurries to get away, the three of them are interrupted by Martin, _“Oi!_ Would you all just stop and _listen!”_ Each of them panting, they are somewhat taken aback by the friendly man’s sudden yell. Blushing faintly, he mumbles, “Thank you.”

“What the fuck, dude?” Sapnap, who’s got Dream in a headlock now, throws Jon’s way. “You were supposed to end him!”

“And if you could be so kind as to look at him, you’ll find that I _did,_ ” Jon responds calmy. 

When Sapnap releases their enemy from his tight grip, what they see is not an enemy at all, and it renders them speechless. The monster that’s been terrorizing them for what felt like an eternity is now regarding them with silent tears falling down his scarred face, eyes speaking of nothing but a pleading, excruciating repentance.

Jon wasn’t lying—he did end Nightmare. 

And what is left in its wake is someone who, when they really look closely, almost resembles the person they once loved so purely that they ran after him through this apocalyptic fearscape without a second of hesitation.

“Dream-” George whispers hesitantly, “What happened to you?” He’s decidedly willing himself to not get his hopes up too high, but for the first time in months, he feels every last part of himself trying to reach for the being in front of him. 

Dream fails at repressing his sobs as an endless stream of unimaginable global terror keeps penetrating his mind through his metaphorical new eyes, now mixing with his friends’ memories. All at once, he sees everything from their perspective—them following him here to save him, the bloodlust radiating off him when they found him waiting, them giving into their twisted game, months of a cruel cycle of fight and flight without reason or purpose or choice, right up until an hour or so ago when George—sweet, beautiful George, whose love Dream knows now he does not deserve, and never has—was, despite all of it, still willing to sacrifice his own happiness to keep Dream alive, and Dream bursts, “I don’t know George, I- I couldn’t stop- I never wanted to- I’m so sorry-”

George lunges forward with a cry, and for a terrible second Dream accepts that the man he loves wants to strangle him dead just like he himself did earlier, but instead he’s pulled into a tight embrace. The smaller body in his arms is shaking and cold, and yet he knows in this moment of surrender, as they hold each other close whispering apologies and sweet nothings at each other, that this right here is where he belongs.

But there’s still something missing, he realises—someone. 

He lifts his head from where it’s resting on George’s for a moment to look at Sapnap, whose expression is unreadable as he watches the pair. Neither of them has the words to articulate their emotions, so they simply stare at each other speechlessly, the lonely night casting sinister shadows over them. 

At last, Dream extends his hand hesitantly, voice shaking. “I- I lost myself, Sap. But he helped me find myself again. So if you’ll have me…”

Against the darkness, Sapnap’s emotions are a bright spark, a whirlwind of burned out, exhausted anger and a flaming desire for reunification. He glances at Jon with a question in his eyes, and when the older man nods reassuringly, takes a deep breath and hisses, “You’re so damn lucky we love you.”

The cry of relief erupting from Dream when his best friend embraces him is loud enough to awaken Bad as well, where he was still passed out in the shadows. It’s safe to say that the sight that greets him when he stumbles from the bushes is enough to make him seriously question both his and his friends’ sanity. “Oh my goodness, what are you _doing?”_

But it doesn’t take long for him to soften when they explain the recent events between tears and apologies, and then Bad, too, finds himself unable to repress his smile. 

With the nightingales gazing upon them in quiet awe and the tree tops shielding them from their regrets and fears, they don’t stop hugging for a very long time.

——— 

Hours later, when they’ve all gotten some much needed rest and the sun greets them again with her shy optimism, it is Jon who ends the peaceful quiet when he gets up and announces him and Martin ought to be leaving soon.

A timid smile forms on George’s lips. “We can’t thank you enough,” he whispers as Dream is half asleep with his head in his boyfriend’s lap, George’s gentle fingers stroking through his hair, grounding him against the terrors troubling his thoughts. 

“No need to thank us,” Martin contributes, “It’s the least we could do.”

Dream stirs in George’s arms. He cannot quite control what he lets access his mind yet, but Jon promised that with time he will learn to handle the Beholding in a way that will grant him the ability to protect himself and, perhaps more importantly, his friends from this changed world, now that they won’t need protection from him any longer. They can’t know where this world will take them next—most likely they’ll end up exploring the horrors of the apocalypse head on, with Dream as their shield—but for now, the four of them embrace their uncertain but reunited future with something not unlike relief. 

“Where will you go now?” Sapnap inquires.

Jon sighs, but there is a certain eagerness in his tone. “London. I’m not entirely sure what’s waiting for us there, but we’re hoping it will give us the chance to put an end to all of this.”

“And, uhm,” Bad asks hesitantly, “What if you don’t manage to do it? What will happen to the world?”

A sudden cold breeze has them all shivering, and Jon is completely still for some moments as he regards the prying Eye that is keeping humanity its prisoners for the sake of... amusement? Enlightenment? Power? He pictures the man turned monster behind it all, and how he’s been corrupting Jon every step of the way for years now. He reflects on all the horrors they’ve encountered on their way so far, and all those that are yet to come before they reach their destination. 

Lastly, he thinks of love. The love between brothers, reunited after being forced into a pointless war. The love in wanting to protect your partner even after everything they have done to tear you apart. The love of forgiveness, of a new beginning. 

But above all, Jon thinks of his own love, the one he feels at the core of his being, now contorted and endangered by one man’s sadistic scheming, and his grip on Martin’s hand tightens. 

“I don’t know,” he finally admits, and hey, isn’t _that_ something. Off in the distance, a bird sings a song that reminds him of quiet mornings watching the sun paint the vast Scottish fields in shades of green, a cup of Earl Grey in his one hand, the other one holding Martin’s. “But until I do, I can’t afford to give up.”

The others offer only murmurs of agreement, and though the silence that follows speaks of farewell, they all feel that there is nothing left unsaid between them, and that they will part ways with gratitude and acceptance.

Martin and Jon have a long way ahead of them—there are truths to be unfolded, fights to be had, all leading to the inevitable confrontation with Jonah on his throne of misery—but as they bid the four young men goodbye, their steps are lighter than they were the day before, and when they return to that ravine at the edge of the woods, for a while the silence between them is almost serene. 

What they leave behind are three men regarding their sleeping friend, all in quiet disbelief of how mere hours ago, he was but a monster they were attempting to hunt down, bound by that curse now broken. 

They are free to go wherever they want now—but for now, George keeps stroking Dream’s hair ever so gently. Guarding him from the nightmares. 

**Author's Note:**

> *mashes fixation A and fixation B together in the most obscure way imaginable just to feel something*: this is what happened when tma was on a 6 week hiatus and the mrbeast rewind was... THAT. 
> 
> for tma people: i couldn’t fit it in there, but i imagine dream is in a situation similar to basira’s now (after mag 195)... wandering around that hellscape “feeding the Eye with his observations”... but hey he’s hot so it’s okay 
> 
> well, thank you for stopping by this niche, and please consider leaving a comment <3


End file.
